


Bad Memories

by attackatosh



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Backstory, F/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-30 23:23:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20781908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attackatosh/pseuds/attackatosh
Summary: Dyce has never exactly felt safe around men - but has Paladin Danse started the push she needs?





	Bad Memories

The first, several… dozen, times, were not easy. This time was no different; getting into situations like this never worked out. She gets worked up, she wants some… then chickens out when the other party starts getting grabby.

It never happened with Piper. It _never_ happened with Curie. It was… always men. Mainly the tough ones; the ones who wanted to play top. She knew why, she just didn’t want to admit it. She refused to admit _he_ was still in control, even now that he’d been long dead. She looked in the mirror, cracked fragments of her face scattered across the dirty glass as she clawed at her deep red hair, trying to get the knots out with little avail. The white streak in her hair, where the burn on her scalp was, the hair was always thinner there… was always easier to manage.

“Dyce?” the soft, yet gruff voice made its way through the door as it opened slightly, Danse poking his head in slightly. “…Everything okay?” He seemed genuinely worried, watching her kneel down on the floor. Neither of them had time to put their clothes back on by the time she’d bolted out of the room faster than she’d pulled Danse in.

“…’m fine.” She mumbled, hair covering her face. It would have looked silly, if she didn’t look genuinely miserable below her hair. “s’just… getting used to it.” She looked away, limply trying to brush the hair out of her eyes. He walked closer, kneeling and gently putting a hand on her shoulder – only to get it smacked away. “D-Don’t.”

“Sorry.” He mumbled, reaching over to close the door. “…you still want me here?”

She nodded slowly. “just… don’t touch me.” She looked over at him, face streaked with tears and runny makeup. “It’s not your fault, I just…”

“What you’d warned me about – when you first brought up how you felt.” He spoke slowly, finding the right words as he went along. “Is… it won’t…” He sighed, burying his face in his hands.

“I know; you’re not used to… _dealing_ with this. You haven’t been. I haven’t been getting used to being around you when we’re… like that.” She laid down, hair falling on either side of her as she looked up at the ceiling. Danse laid down next to her, close enough to look at her easily but far enough to not accidentally set her off again. “It’s my fault; every time… Every time someone wants me to be the bottom – every time a _man_ does it…” She rolled over, Danse seeing things he hadn’t noticed before; scars along her back, some longer than others. Mixed with the burn scars... “It… it...” She bit her lip, curling up against the floor and sniffling. “S-Sorryyyy…”

“It’s not your fault!” Danse said, hoping he sound reassuring – though, given how he _usually_ spoke, he probably sounded more afraid than anything. “Please, you know this isn’t your fault – no matter what others have said.”

“Then why haven’t I changed?” She said, voice cracking. “It’s been… oh, God, I never told you, huh…”

“I never asked.” He sat up, looking at her with worry. “It wasn’t my business to pry.”

“You were the first one to never question it.” She mumbled. “Every time… every time, the first question is ‘why run from what you want?’ and I’m back where I started; lost in the same headspace I’ve had for the past… six years.” She cried softly, sniffling between breaths – her voice hollow and numb. “I suppose I should thank you… if only because you kept the same questions to yourself.”

“If you’re comfortable with me knowing… I’ll protect it with my life.” He reached a hand over before pulling it away, nodding reassuringly as Dyce sat up, quietly scooting closer to Danse. She motioned, allowing him to wrap an arm around her. “Deep breaths, soldier. You’re not the first one I’ve comforted in a bathroom… though, I suppose you’re the first one I’ve had a chat like _this_ with.”

She laughed softly, leaning into him. Her body was still shaking, adrenaline still coursing through her. “This is why it’s silly.” She said softly, taking slow and shaky breaths. “I’ve seen you, both on and off the field. You’re… you’re sweet, you’re protective, you keep a watchful eye over those close to you…” She looked up at him. “Do you remember that… group, Dex and I were talking about earlier?”

“…Caesar’s Legion?” He asked, voice soft. The mere mention of the group brought a deep, visceral cringe to Dyce – something, he suspected, happened quite often. “I’ve never heard of them.”

“…Good. I did. I was _in_ with them… or so I thought. Turns out, I was just… I was just an object like the rest of the women at our base. And yet… I guess I was special. Young, cocky, spry… and a figure fit for a king.” She scoffed. “Or I guess, a ‘son of Mars.’” She shuddered suddenly, hand gripping her hair, pulling it. Danse tightened his grip instinctively, holding her as best he could as she fought her way free, landing face-down on the floor with a groan. “Damnit! Sorry…”

“No, that one was on me.” He said softly, letting her regain her composure. “I guess when I do that, it must… it probably—“

“When you grab me like that, it feels like _him_ all over again. Caesar…” She shook her head. “_Caesar._ I still pronounce it… in the, I guess the ‘latin’ way, that’s what Arcade said.”

“Which one was Arcade?” Danse asked curiously, trying to steer her out of another spiral. She blinked, before shaking her head with a laugh.

“Oh! No, he wasn’t ever part of this, aside from… one incident. He’s Dexter’s…” She paused. She’d seen Dex and John with rings, but did Arcade have one? “Uhh… _one of_ Dexter’s fiancés, I guess.”

“Oh! The tall one, plain clothes – at least compared to Dexter and John.” Danse’s eyes lit up.

“_Anyway._” Dyce said slowly, stressing the importance of her next words. Danse could feel the tension in the air. “He… well. Let’s just say C—_Caesar._ And I knew each other… _really_ well.” She buried her face in her hands. “I think you can put the pieces together.”

“I… yeah.” He said softly. “Is there anything I can do? To help you… I guess, heal? Or at least… mitigate you having incidents like this?”

She took a breath, seemingly finally able to relax. “…Let me take care of things. At least at first…” She shuffled around, sitting on his lap. “I’ll be _more_ than happy to let you know when it’s _your_ turn.”

A pink tinge creeped across Danse’s face as he nodded slowly, rendered surprisingly dumbstruck. “Yeah. That… That sounds perfect.”

Dyce leaned down, kissing Danse as he stood up, lifting her up and carrying her out of the room. Even if their plans were cancelled _tonight_… somehow, they both knew another opportunity wouldn’t be too far away.


End file.
